Dirty Little Secret
by Bethie-from-africa
Summary: After a fight with Harry Ginny goes to take a shower. While there, her dirty little secret comes out.


Dirty Little Secret

She walked down the corridor nearly in tears. What did Harry know about anything? How DARE he call her that? Harry, of all people. After defending her to Malfoy and then calling her a slut in front of the entire common room? Yes, he had kissed her but that didn't mean she'd wanted it. That Malfoy! This was all his fault. Obviously slapping someone didn't mean what she thought it did.

She was calming down now. It wasn't her fault she got kissed but Harry had every right to react how he did. After all, she was his girlfriend now and he was overprotective. But STILL. She was not a slut and she didn't like him calling her that. She resolved to have a good talk with him, right after her shower. She stopped in front of the prefect's bathroom and whispered the password to the picture, which swung back to let her in. She slipped in and shut it behind her. She cast a spell to put the mermaid to sleep, and shed her clothes. She took a quick bath (plain water, she didn't go for all the bubbles like some people she knew) and got out and put on her pajamas and sighed with relief. Now it was time.

It was worth the risk of being caught after curfew to have these moments to herself. Her days were full of classes and Quidditch Practice, prefect duties, and being with Harry, and when she was in her dormitory, all the others were, too. This was her only time to herself all day. And she had to have time to herself, because of her dirty little secret. She wasn't dirty, really. And after time, she had stopped being little. But it was now, and would remain forever, a secret. She couldn't fathom what Harry or Ron or Hermione would do if they caught her doing this. And she was never going to take a chance and let them find out.

She slid to the floor with her back against the wall. She rolled up her long sleeved tee-shirt and examined yesterday's cut. It was coming along nicely, she thought. It didn't look infected and it had scabbed over well. The other scars were in various stages of healing, too. All were special, all had their own stories. None of the stories were worth repeating.

She fumbled in her bathroom kit until she found her razor case. Tucked inside of it was a small blade, nicked from her father's shaving supplies. Swallowing, she placed the sharp end of the blade on a bare spot on her arm. She took a deep breath and slowly drew the razor across her arm. Lifting it up, she watched her blood well up from the cut, which was deeper than she had first thought. With her right hand, she wiped it away, allowing more blood to flow.

She often asked herself why she did this and tonight she tried to reason with the logical part of her mind. On one hand, this was better than some of the things she could be doing. She didn't sleep around, she didn't do drugs. Had never drank, smoked, or cause too much trouble in class. Her grades were decent. And she owed it all to her dirty little secret. On the other hand, she knew this was bad. She knew, in the back of her mind, what Ron and Harry and Hermione would say to this, and it wasn't very satisfying.

"Huh? What did you say? Naw. That's stupid. Why don't you talk to Hermione or Mum about what's bothering you?"

"What'd ya say? You, Ginny? You know you can talk to me about anything. Talk to me when you feel like... cutting, you said?"

And Hermione, "You know, I read a book about Self Injury in Teenage Witches and Wizards and I think you should tell a teacher. Why don't you and I go right now and talk to Dumbledore about it? I bet he'd be willing to talk to your parents, too."

No, telling somebody just would not do. During this mental conversation, she hadn't noticed the blood that was coming faster and faster. She felt faint and she made an effort to stop the blood flow. Dizzy, she reached for her wand, not knowing what she would do with it when (if!) she found it. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but knowing that it was futile. The last thing she saw was the mermaid, snoring.

She woke up, stiff and sore. Groaning, she looked around. Her eyes fastened on the door, where several human figures stared at her.

"Miss Weasley, why don't we get you to the hospital wing. You and I can talk later," Dumbledore said.


End file.
